I should have listened to you, Sister. Now I have fallen. There are others down here as well. Others who made the same mistake I did.

…

It is so cold down here. I can barely see anything, but from what I have seen, this land is desolate and barren, Bats swoop in to prey on us at times, and the bodies… So many bodies… Dead, sick, and dying. I want to come home.

…

It has been five days since I’ve fallen into the Abyss. The others tell me to give up my endeavors to escape, but I won’t give up that easily. Today, I and a group of others who fell with me will begin our journey to leave this bleak land.

…

Most of them are dead, eaten by the bats. Sister Chirik is gone. I was one of the few fortunate enough to only get knocked back down. I am slightly injured, and it will take me a while to recover. It is disheartening to have lost all my progress, but I will persevere.

…

Ten days. Ten days in the cold and darkness. Food is scarce, as usual. The others don’t tell me what they’ve been feeding me, but it gives me enough energy to get around. Enough to plan another escape attempt. To whomever that is reading this journal, do not worry, you will escape from this place as well.

…

I made it, Sister! I have made it to the mouth of the Abyss! Oh how glorious it is! After a night’s rest, I will begin the Ascent.

…

I hear their screams as they fall past me. It haunts me.

…

Sister, they won’t stop screaming.

…

Is this purgatory? Is this hell?

Climbing up an endless chasm while hearing the lamentations of the damned?”

…

This section that I am climbing seems to be quite unstable, but I think it will hold lon

These words, these stories, these fantasies, they speak to my very soul. Every perfectly inked letter on this vintage yellow page glitters with my curiosity. There is wisdom in your writing, a lesson to be learned, a secret to be uncovered, a story to be told. Captivated, I never leave a page unturned, or a word unread, or an idea unexplored. These words, they fill my mind. With ideas and wonders and feelings. I isolate my thoughts to only the writing within these crisp pages between my fingers. The ink holds its own aesthetic and power, your story holds its own meanings, the ending holds its own emotions. But oh, these words, they break my heart. When a hero dies. When a heart is broken. When justice goes unserved. These stories, they mend my soul, they teach my mind, they brighten my world. But oh, beware the power behind those words; there is always a secret they haven’t yet told.